Far Cry 3: Bloodfeud
by miss.ripps
Summary: Three souls trapped upon the Island are subjected to the horrors of Hoyt's operation. One man is shot and left for dead and gathered from his watery grave by the Rakyat and their mysterious leader, Citra, who believes him a gift sent by the Goddess. Another, an escaped slave whom whom Citra believes believes is a dark omen.
1. DRINK ME

Hello every one! Here's one of two of my stories for Far Cry 3 written with care by myself and the wonderful, but elusive, Archiwedes.

Full Summary:

Title: **Bloodfeud****  
**Pairing: Oc x Citra  
Time: AU / Prequel  
Rating: Mature

Three souls trapped upon the Island are subjected to the horrors of Hoyt's operation. One man is shot and left for dead and gathered from his watery grave by the Rakyat and their mysterious leader, Citra, who believes him a gift sent by the Goddess. With them he must train and gather strength under Citra's guidance to become the Great Guardian who once watched over the Lotus Pond in a time before The Giant and reap his revenge on the pirate Vaas who left him to the sharks. But there is another, an escaped slave whom was forced to abandon her girlfriend in the care of Vaas and his pirates, a woman whom Citra believes is a dark omen to grace her Guardian's Path.

* * *

Life was a blur. A haze of bright club lights and white sandy beaches filled with music that left her ears ringing and her head pounding by the end of the night. This was the life that not everybody got to experience, and not many enjoyed. All the bikini's and the margarita's and the bad selfies and dropping phones into the tide pools. Each and every moment recorded on the web and liked by friends and family. We were all just kids here in the end. Kids trying to have a good time, trying to relax, trying to enjoy life. We were all just finishing college and this little adventure across the world was in celebration of our upcoming graduations. With the last of our allowances and grants left at the end of the semester we all decided to take one last trip together for old times sake before we all began our new lives in the careers of our dreams, moved away, started families. In a way we were all saying goodbye to each other, knowing we would never see one another again, we would never drink together, never study together, never play another dorm room prank. Yet in a way…in the midst of all the dazzling lights and music and laughter…we were saying goodbye to ourselves. The Philippines would be the last moment in our lives where we were free and wild, living in the moment without a single care about the future or the past. And when we all boarded that plane home…we all knew we would be returning as different people – educated people, refined people, off to make our way in the world and carve out our lives. This was where the party ended for us all. And where ultimately our journey into the prison of productive citizen's we would walk. Never again to dream of flying without wings. Never again to truly be free. But not all of us were able to enjoy this outing, cause sometimes…wounds cut far too deep for a few maitai's and ocean waves to nurture. And sometimes those wounds hurt so badly that you end up doing things you later regret. Sometimes those wounds killed.

The tequila stung as it went down, causing a cringe from the would be Coomunications major as she slammed down the third shot glass amidst the cheer's of her classmates around her, who just a moment ago had been chanting "Shot!" "Shot!" over and over again to motivate her to play their game. The music blared a catchy, carnivale sort of Caribbean dubstep trash mix that left the dance floor in waves as bodies leapt up and down with the "wubs" of the music. And she herself dancing on her stool as she sourly sucked on a fresh slice of lemon offered with the shots as her classmates once again cheered her on. "I hate all of you!" She finally addressed them as she spit out the skin of the lemon, but her tone was deceptively lighthearted and slurred from ultimate intoxication – which seemed to be the only thing really to do around here that was remotely worth a damn. Right now she was a rock star, amongst her peers, away from her worries…but it was only a matter of time until the realization crept back up and she was sourly reminded that while she was among friends here she was still sitting here alone. And when she did realize it perhaps minutes or hours had already gone by as the games of shots ended and most of the party filtered off to dance some more or stumble back to their cabana's for the night to sleep off the best time of their lives. Tomorrow they were all due to return to America, to family, and to graduation. Seemed like yesterday they'd only just arrived and now it was all over. Sad really. But necessary, nothing could last forever after all. That was a thought that Sorcha had only finally come to accept as the sunny days of young teen love slowly drifted away. And as the years went one she realized that the old days of giving the world the finger and living for love were over. And so she sat there, committed, but alone. Save for Doug – who had chosen to lean against the bar like the smug asshole that he was . He wasn't part of their little group, they'd met him the day they came in, the only sucker they could find that spoke English and who was kind enough to give them directions to their hotel and even toured them around the island while he was at it. Everyone liked him, even she did, and he just kinda …stuck around with them. Luring them away with all sorts of activities all through out the week. He was still in the same red tank top, same one he'd been wearing all week, and he seemed to be permanently attached to his camera – which he had used to film them since day one. He said he was some sort of amateur film maker…none of them thought anything of it.

Doug was filming them as usual, a panorama of the dance floor as her friends partied away and she picked at the peanuts in her own merry little tequila induced world as Doug panned the camera over into her direction. "You're beautiful." She heard him say and she looked at him with a mixture of horror and shock, "Beats being an ugly fuck like you." She replied instinctively, and with some bitterness, Doug only laughed in response and she looked at his camera if only to satisfy him briefly. She wasn't a very tall girl, only twenty two or so and about five foot six, but she had a sort of exotic appeal to her that was hard to place. Her hair was a chestnut auburn shade, most of the time a rich brunette but in the right light the fire came out. It matched her personality well, the calm and calculating type with the spark of an Irish temper that was both phenomenal yet frightening all at once. She got that from her father. While she got her looks from her South American mother. "You know…" Doug continued as he slid closer and circled around her at close view while she followed him with her eyes, "You're a seriously uptight bitch, have you accepted cock into your life yet?" He teased but Sorcha detected a tone of cruelty in there offhandedly and and she instantly shoved her hand into the camera lens. "You and your cock can fuck off." She snapped, agitated as her eyes scanned the environment for the bottle blonde she called her woman – who would so happen to have appeared to be very missing.

"The fuck is Scha'tzi anyway?" She asked, mostly herself, but loud enough for others to hear anyway. Though her real name was Maybelle, she went by Scha'tzi. Sorcha hated the name herself, it sounded like a cheap stage name you'd hear in a twenty dollar titty bar, but she liked it, said it matched her own name well, so she said nothing. She never said anything anymore these days it felt like. Scha'tzi always had so much to talk about, her life and her feelings, what she wanted and what she thought. Always talk about Scha'tzi. They'd met in high school and had once been inseparable, standing against the stereotypes and the teasing and bullying, the offhanded hatred and the disapproval of their parents. But maybe about a year ago things hadn't been going so well…or maybe she just realized that it hadn't ever gone well since the start and she'd been too blinded by adoration to realize, she really didn't like that girl at all. These days it was like babysitting a two year old who wanted to put everything in their mouth. More often then not Sorcha found herself worrying about Scha'tzi, what she was doing, where she was going, if she would come home that night or three days from then. Scha'tzi was always wild at heart, something that couldn't be tamed, but she was immature still and reckless. So who did Sorcha become over the years? She'd gone from lover to mother.

"She went to the bathroom." She heard Doug reply and Sorcha slid from her stool with a sigh, a stagger in her step. "That's what you said an hour ago." Which was never a good sign in a place like this. She moved away from the would be camera man, feeling that stupid device on her as she weaved through the crowd of sweating bodies who all looked like blurs of color right about now and down into the narrow hallway which hooked back into a dingy bathroom and the familiar giggle of her girl from the far corner. Two red tank tops stood close to the short little blonde as she leaned over counter top awkwardly. Sorcha could only see her back but it wasn't rocket science to figure out what was happening and it wasn't so much as what she was doing as who she was doing it with. Sorcha wasn't usually the jealous type…but it was hard to feel anything other then threatened when her significant other was doing lines with two strange men….in red tank tops. What was with the red around here? Sorcha shot forward then, pulling Scha'tzi up mid sniff and and confronting her aggressively. "The fuck are you doing? Are you fucking stupid!?" Sorcha was vicious when she was angry, but Scha'tzi was worse wen she didn't get her way and the girl was quick to shove her lover away violently. "Fuck off Sorcha, you don't own me! I'll do what I want when I want to!" If looks could have killed so they said, but Irish blood dictated that no fight would ever be anything less then bloody and brutal. "You don't know these assholes and you don't even know what that shit might do to you, what they could do to you!" Yet still she tried to reason with the drunk and high woman as if there ever was a chance at that, she hadn't been able to reason with Scha'tzi for over a year – yet she kept on trying time and time again. What was it that they said about people doing the same thing over again and expecting shit to change? "At least they pay attention to me!" Scha'tzi's words cut deep, re-openng old wounds in the process as the girl shoved past her and instantly a wave of guilt washed over her. Scha'tzi was good at making her feel like she was the one at fault for everything…even when she wasn't. But that guilt quickly turned to anger as she found the lounging red tanktops still spectating her like statues in the corner. "You two fucks stay away from my girl." Sorcha warned them as she turned and pursued the young woman, seizing her arm as she tried to disappear into the flood of people.

"Scha'tzi…" She soothed but the girl ripped free of her quickly. "Don't fucking touch me you depressing piece of shit! All you do is ruin everything!" The blonde was viperous, yet Sorcha only saw a disobeying child before her – and it was irritating. "Yeah cause it's always about you isn't it?" She stabbed the girl's ego, she could tell. Scha'tzi didn't like to be criticized or referred to in any sort of negative light. She liked her little overinflated world where she was perfect and everyone else was the problem and in retaliation for breaking that bubble, Scha'tzi's hand's collided with her face before the girl flew off into the crowd. Stunned Sorcha recoiled backwards, but the girl was long gone from her sight by the time her vision stopped swimming with rage and a chilly sobriety dried up the liquor in her veins. That guilt was back again and she already regretted what she'd said as she pouted, rubbing her cheek as she cast her eyes down to the floor. "Daaaamn." She heard Doug again and she looked up to find him closing in on her again….with that god damned camera on her. "You filmed that?" She asked with a grim suspicion but the guy didn't answer her, rather he snaked his arm around her shoulders as he turned the camera towards them and upward into the perfect Myspace angle. "Don't worry about her. Tomorrow none of this will even matter anymore." Whether he was being a smug asshole or legitimately trying to cheer her up she couldn't tell and she didn't look at the camera, but glared away from it, having had enough limelight for the rest of her life.

"One more drink!" Doug announced after looking at her and seeing the ghastly expression on her face.

"No." Sorcha dully replied. But Doug's arm merely tightened around her, "Yes." He countered, "Just one then I'll let you go." And he pulled her back to the bar, spilling her down into her stool again as he signaled to the bartender. Sorcha has been too distracted to notice the pill expertly dropped into her drink as he pushed it into her digits.

"Drink up."

_It was all very well to say `Drink me,' but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. "No, I'll look first," she said, and see whether it's marked "poison" _


	2. Au Revoir

Vaas walked slowly behind the line of slaves and pirates wobbling to the side a bit with each step he took, his mind elsewhere. It had been a good day for Vaas. He woke up next to the adorable heiress whom he and the crew had caught three or so days before, the poor girl still blacked out from the cocktail of drugs that just may have impair the doe-eyed highschooler for life. Vaas had come across the family while out hunting in one of his helicopters, the rich bastards having set up an ample campsite on the beach, their yacht anchored quite a few meters off the shore. Vaas had shot the son through the throat and kicked the old man into the surf, giving him a generous, "Get the fuck off my island, so you can go home and pay the ransom for your sexy ass daughter." Ever since, he had been harassing the girl and her mother, but ended up kicking the old broad to his men while he plowed the girl and got fucked up. Sad enough for her, her hazy stupor had not saved her from Vaas' sadistic libido that morning. After leaving her a gaping, unconscious mess on his sheets, he sauntered out into his camp. He had ordered some drugs from some American bigshot whose smack seemed to be all the rage with all the cartels, and it was due for arrival. He took out one of the boats with a couple of the pirarets, and spent the majority of the rest of the morning unloading lead at sharks and manta rays. Finally making his way to the designated coordinates, at the designated time, he pretended to be civil for an entire four and a half minutes before he sent a bullet through the wifebeater and flip-flop clad Bro that had greeted him. Next came the hippie kid coming out of the cabin, who got his brains blown out the back of his head. Vaas was going over his day bit by bit, and had just gotten to his favorite part: the drugs. He began to think about the first bump he had of that bitter, american- SNAP! His attention was immediately diverted by the sharp shattering sound of forehead on cartilage, and Doug's cry as the hot tempered woman smashed his nose.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Holy fucking shit! She really domed you Doug!" Yelled Vaas in laughter as he stepped back, bending over with his cackling. As the pirate smashed Sorcha in the face, Vaas stepped over to Doug, smacking his hand on the back of his shoulder. "Oh shit man, she fucking got you. Holy shit. Move your hand man, let me see." He said, leaning in and pushing away Doug's hand to inspect his face. "Shiiiiiiit, hermano. She made you ugly." He said, laughing a bit as he stepped back. "Hahahaha, just kidding man, just kidding. You've been ugly." He laughed again, looking over at the girl as Hoyt put her in her place a few feet away. Vaas looked to Doug, turning towards Sorcha as the tyrant scolding her walked off. "Go do some coke man, numb that nose up." He suggested before looking back at Sorcha, stepping up to her.

Hoyt clapped his shoulder and Vaas nodded and laughed a bit. "Argentina, hah, yes. Beautiful country." He crooned, looking over at Sorcha as Hoyt walked off. Vaas' eyes washed over Sorcha, examing the bleeding beauty with a grin on his lips. His gun was pulled from its holster, the young tyrant holding it sideways as he pressed the barrel against her head, off to the side of her forehead a little. "The wine, though? They have the tightest wine, and the tastiest women. Or was it the other way around?" He said to her with a wicked grin. He pushed the gun against her head, guiding her to lay back down against the table while his other hand lay flat against her stomach, sliding down slowly for his fingers to hook under the hem of her skirt. He jerked it up, pulling her hips into the air for a short moment before she dropped back to the table, button popping off of her skirt. Vaas' fingers wormed into her panties as he slid his hand south. His middle finger spread her lips, sliding into her cleft to stroke her walls as the rest of his hand cupped her crotch. "You're fucking sexy, you know that? I was hoping they hadn't roofed you too hard. I might have to break you in myself!" He said with a laugh, humping the table slightly, the wood creaking as it shifted back. He curled his finger, rubbing against her while he slipped it in and out a few times, before slowly withdrawing his hand. He smiled deviously at her, bringing his finger to his lips before he sucked the tip. He grinned, his hand dropping to her breast, supporting himself as he leaned over her body and spat in her face. "What do you know? I was write. Tasty, huh?" He teased, laughing as he straightened his posture and holstered his pistol, then reached out, grasping her arm and pulling her into a sitting position. He reached up, pinching her nose and snapping it into place before pulling his fingers back, his thumb left between them. "Look! I got your nose! Don't you want it back? C'mon, come get it?" Vaas urged on enthusiastically, backing up while motioning for her to follow. When he watched her lack of response, he sighed, standing straight up and looking off to the side as he rolled his eyes. "Fuuck. You're no fucking fun. Pretty though." He said as he grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. "Doug's a lucky motherfucker. Getting this piece of ass before me. Its okay though. Your friend's pretty. Good thing she didn't blow her head off- then she couldn't blow me tonight. Hahahaha. Aw, shit," Vaas started, walking over towards the barracks and shacks set up for the various men. "where'd that cheeky bastard go?"

/\/

Ethan's eyes lowered to look at his wounds. He grimaced a bit at her words, eyes shifting back up to the jungle beauty before him. "Yeah… I'm not sure if fortunate is the right word. But fuck him. I'm gonna kill that S.O.B." He said, leaning back against the altar. "Hah, well… I lived. That make me the chosen one or something?" He joked grimly, looking around at his surroundings again. He didn't know how right he was. Nor how fortunate. While Vaas chased after many whom he freed, they seldom got away from the vile tyrant. If the hunter himself did not come find them, the island swallowed them up as if they had never tread its dark and leafy paths. Ethan wouldn't be like that, though. Under Citra's guidance, her conditioning, he would become one of the most deadly things to stalk the shadows of Rook.

"I know…" He said, gritting his teeth as he lay back as she had asked. She was right, and he knew it. The red blade was held with expert precision, its sealing heat closing the tears in his flesh one after the other while he winced below. He tensed his muscles, dampening some of the pain while the priestess worked her magic on his wounds. "Fuggin' shit…." He grumbled, grimacing a little as he looked down over his freshly fixed wounds.

Ethan winced a bit more as Citra shoved him back against the stone, eyes widening slightly as he watched her anger arouse. "Eh…kind of." He replied. Indeed, America had become quite the bustling community, and day by day its manners and etiquette dissolved into oblivion. "This is like, my fourth time taking a bullet. I had TB when I was a kid. I've been in all kinds of firefights, military coups, and the seediest bars you can imagine. Couple sticks and leaves aren't gonna hurt me." He said, trying to sit up a bit. The jungle? Great… the fucking jungle… He thought, grimacing inwardly. "Look… don't get me wrong. I'm very grateful… thank you, for saving me. But I can't stay here. I have an agenda-" He began, cutting his sentence short as he watched Dennis approach. He listened to him speak, frowning a bit. "No phones…" He repeated, looking down as he pondered. As Dennis offered his hand, Ethan's eyes washed over the man's military jacket, eyes hesitating on the USMC insignia. He looked at his shoulder, gazing at the ruined, scorched mess that had once bore the same symbol. Weary eyes trailed back up to Dennis without much delay, his numbed hand reaching over to clasp with Dennis' between convulsions. "I'm, uh… my name is Ethan." He said, shaking the man's hand to the best of his ability before letting his arm fall down to his lap.

"I'm grateful… you saved my life. What's left of it, at least… anyway, I just need to get back to my country- I have responsibilities I have to take care of. I have money… you probably don't want money… shit. Uh… look, just, I'll do whatever I can to repay you. But, when I came here, uh… I brought something. And, the man with the scar took it from me. I have to get it back from him, before I can go. Where can I find him?" Asked Ethan as he looked between the two Rakyat. "I will repay you." He said nodding at him. Aftre a moment though, he leaned to the side and his eyes squinted slightly, peering out the opening of the tent into the darkness. He looked back up at Dennis. "You said there were no phones? That's a radio tower." He said, nodding towards a blinking red light in the dark sky. "Right?"


End file.
